


Sleepless Night

by AnneLaurant



Category: W.I.T.C.H.
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Death, Family, Gen, Murder, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-02-08 15:58:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18626485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnneLaurant/pseuds/AnneLaurant
Summary: Elyon cannot sleep, and the thoughts of everyday life bother her. Living like this can’t be the norm!(A first look into the Quindecision AU; deaths/murders are mentioned.)





	Sleepless Night

**Author's Note:**

> This fic takes place in the Quindecision AU where Weira, Phobos, and Elyon aren’t royals. (Kinda.) Phobos is referred to as “Philip” in this fic. Various OCs mentioned; alraunes = plant peoples of Meridian; draconians = dragons.

It is nighttime, and Elyon cannot sleep.

She stares out into the dark sky and adjusts herself. The bed had been the same ever since - the same rickety bed she grew up sleeping on, shared with her mother - but it did not soothe her.

She sits on the bed, awake, staring out the open window. ‘Everyone’s asleep,’ she assures herself. 'I don’t need to worry.’

She stares, and stares. She tells herself, it’s going to be fine. Things happened, she tells herself, but they happened at morning. The things that happened at morning, she argues, were kidnappings. People randomly barging into their town and their houses. Very specific people looking for very specific targets.

The draconians came in last week, and her family barely missed them. It was unpleasant pretending to be one of the dead, waiting inside a wooden coffin that they could scorch so easily, listening for voices, so many voices. Miss Shyla and Cedric did their best, but a few houses were left in fire (and in ruins). These houses are still being rebuilt.

This week, some important-looking alraunes, guarded by powerful witches, entered their town, supposedly on vacation, and they haven’t left.

Elyon shivers at the memory. She stares at her hands, and it gives her the memories of sap-blood, mixed with rust and dirt. She doesn’t want to kill anyone anymore.

It had only been her and her brother Philip that day. It had been an alraune, no doubt the person the vacationeers were looking for. The alraune was no doubt an official, his badge displayed proudly on his chest.

Elyon and her brother had shovels in their hands. They shadowed the official. The moment he relaxed, Elyon ran from behind him, and–

The next thing she knew was that Philip was begging her to stop. Her shovel was filled with sap-splatter. She cried. She was suddenly so, so tired. How did living become like this? Why was this supposed to be their way of living?

She guarded the body as Philip dug a grave. They stole what the official had on himself. Elyon burned the badge away, as her brother shivered in her arms - or was it her, shivering in his arms? They washed their hands and faces and shovels by the river. They went home and spoke nothing of it.

If only they had greener skin. If only they had scales, instead of skin. If only they had a tail. ‘What for?’ Elyon asks herself, asks to the stars on this moonless night. Even so, their appearance will matter none to the war. The alraunes will kill the draconians. The draconians will kill the alraunes. In the battlefield, she, her family, her town, and everything else will get caught up, accused of hiding rebels, accused of defending traitors, accused of everything the enemy does and will do.

Elyon rocks herself. The bed creaks under her. She stops. No. No noises. Be quiet. She can’t do that.

She stands, walks very slowly to the edge of the room. She stares at her family. Two brothers, one mother. Still complete. No one bleeds. No one is placed inside the coffins. Supposedly, working at the local mortuary should’ve made her immune to the thought. She and her brothers pull up corpses, make coffins, and place the corpses into the coffins, especially when there is no other available job for the week.

Supposedly.

Elyon checks on her mother. Mother is breathing; thank goodness. Her nose, peeking from the bandages that hide her burned face, makes breathing motions. The rise and fall of her chest assures Elyon.

Elyon checks on her brothers. Their red and blonde hairs mix on the pillows; Philip drools a little. She smiles. They’re just asleep. She takes their hands. Still warm. Still alive. Good.

Elyon retreats to the corner of the room yet again. Is this supposed to be their norm? Is this all supposed to be real? Is there nothing she can do to make things right in her homeland, Meridian? Will she and her family always live in fear and death?

That night, she does not sleep. In the morning, she will be found asleep on the table, and she will be carried to the bed. Her brothers will resume their lives - one in search of a job to bring food and money on the table, and one attending a silently operating school in the small parcel of Infinite City under their feet. Her mother will try performing at the local theater for spare coins again.

And Elyon? She will sleep. She will wake, but she will find no real answers to her questions. (Not yet.)

Life will continue, but so will the war.


End file.
